My Fuzzy Valentine
by EnchantedApril
Summary: Steve McQueen is back for Valentine's Day... the continuation of the ratassisted courtship between House and Cameron... Continuation of TheSitter and AuldLangSqueak... Not as fuffy as it might seem... Ch2 Posted Feb19th
1. Chapter 1

With the holiday comes another Steve McQueen story... Because, like the good china, Steve only comes around for special occassions. I hope you all enjoy this! I should have the rest posted by the end of the weekend.

**My Fuzzy Valentine**

It was snowing again. There had been a blizzard all up the east coast over the weekend and now weightless little flakes drifted lazily through the air outside the window beside Cameron's desk. It didn't look like it would amount to much, just flurries being blown around by the wind, but it was pretty to look at and Cameron remembered the last time she'd enjoyed the snow had been New Year's Day. She'd been hopeful then, with the feel of House's mouth still a memory on her lips.

The next snowfall had trapped House and Stacy Warner in Baltimore, and after that her optimism had faded. Stacy was gone now, but House was still distant most of the time, and he hadn't invited her over to help with Steve. Cameron felt slightly ridiculous about the fact that the loss of her status as Steve's back-up owner hurt almost as much as the knowledge that House had kissed his ex-girlfriend less than two weeks after kissing her. Maybe it was because Steve had been the bridge between them, and having it pulled away left her lonelier and feeling bereft. Hope removed was worse than hope denied to begin with.

House was in his office and she could hear his music through the glass walls. She wanted to go in there and ask him what was going on. She wished she had the courage to face his answer, whatever it was. Instead she sat at her desk and read the mass-email Valentine that the hospital had sent to all the employees. She was still staring at it when Foreman and Chase walked in.

The two of them walked over to the coat rack and as Foreman took off his overcoat Chase looked him up and down with a raised eyebrow.

"Nice suit. You interviewing somewhere?" he asked, half joking and half serious. The serious half sounded just a little bit jealous.

Foreman rolled his eyes. "No," he drawled as if the answer should be obvious. "I have a date tonight. Valentine's Day. Sound familiar?"

"Ah, that explains it." Chase pulled off his own coat and hung it up. "That hot drug rep? Larissa? Carissa?"

"Vanessa," Cameron interjected, looking away from the computer for the first time since their arrival.

Foreman nodded towards her. "Right. Vanessa. And I'd appreciate it if you not call her 'hot'. We've been dating for almost a year. A little respect would be nice." His expression said that a little respect would also keep Chase from having to visit the dentist for a few new teeth.

"Sure. Right. Sorry."

"You gotta date?"

"Nah," he replied and if his eyes strayed to Cameron's slim form, Foreman pretended not to notice. It was the unspoken rule that no one would ever mention that one-night stand again.

"What about you, Cameron?" Chase asked. The rule didn't require that he stop being nosy.

"No. It's a made up holiday anyway," she declared.

Chase laughed. "This, coming from little Miss Hopeless Romantic?" He ignored the fact that her mouth had flattened into a tight line.

"Knock it off, man," Foreman said, nudging him with his elbow. "She said no."

A sound of exasperation tripped out of Chase's mouth and he turned to go get a cup of coffee. Foreman watched Cameron's expression relax slightly before she sighed and swiveled back to face her computer. He knew that she probably didn't appreciate his macho protective act, but he was tired, more than tired, of watching her get hurt.

He hadn't meant to find out about him.

Her husband.

He'd just been down in the clinic collecting a chart when he'd seen Cameron and Wilson standing toe to toe. Gossip wasn't his thing, but when the two nicest people in the hospital appeared ready to shout at each other, it got his attention. He wondered if House knew, and he wondered if the miserable bastard had come to the same conclusions he had, or if he had learned 'dead husband' and let that be the defining foundation of Cameron's personality in his mind.

At first the knowledge that Cameron was a widow had shocked him. Then he had thought that it explained a lot about her and then, days later, he had begun to think that while it explained some things, she was too complex for that to be the only thing that influenced her life. Still, he figured Valentine's Day was one in a long string of painful reminders of her husband.

He couldn't know that this year her painful introspection was caused by a completely different man.

"Any new patients," he asked, thinking to get Cameron's mind off of the previous conversation.

She jerked her head towards House's office and the pounding bass that rattled the glass. "Rolling Stones this early in the morning means he's bored," she said. "No new patient."

"Well I hope it stays that way. I'd like to stay under the radar for a while until he forgets about last month," he said, referring to his brief stint as department head. He figured that if they had a slow week or two, House wouldn't have the opportunity to abuse him by making him do the grunt work.

"I think he's got a pretty long memory," Cameron said with a wry little smile.

"Yeah, that's what I'm afraid of," Foreman replied and then he headed to the coffee maker.

* * *

It was after two o'clock and House was still holed up in his office. Wilson had long since expected him to come begging him for lunch money. A hungry House was a grumpy House… although lately it had become difficult to tell the difference between grumpy and normal.

Armed with a Reuben sandwich, a bag of chips and a carton of milk, he approached House's office door. It was closed, which was expected, and he balanced all the food in one hand and opened the door with the other. Knocking would give House the opportunity to tell him to get lost, so he didn't bother.

"Don't attack. I brought food," he said as he entered and House looked up with a distinct scowl.

"Gimme. And there had better not be pickles."

Wilson let out a weary but ever-accepting sigh and tossed the wrapped sandwich onto House's desk. He lobbed the milk and chips next and House caught them easily.

"Aww, such a good friend," House said, tone sarcastic although the truth of his words could not be so easily masked.

The chair in the corner beckoned and Wilson dropped down into it. House looked mildly annoyed that he was not being left to eat in peace.

"So, planning on staying isolated in here for the foreseeable future?"

"Possibly," House muttered around a mouth full of pastrami.

"So let's recap," Wilson had his elbows planted on the chair arms, his fingers steepled in front of him. "You spend a month obsessing over Stacy. Then you engage in some sort of slow motion, rat-induced courtship with Cameron. You kiss Cameron on New Year's Eve, and then you kiss Stacy in Baltimore and send her away. And now, a week later, you're refusing patients and OD'ing on classic rock music. I miss anything?"

"Yeah, the part where you mind your own business," House snapped, irritated with himself for the fact that he'd been unable to keep from kissing and telling.

"Well your team is getting bored, the hospital is going to start wondering why they pay your salary, and frankly, Allison deserves better than to be jerked around by you."

House scowled again at the easy way Wilson said her name when he couldn't get beyond calling her Cameron, even in his thoughts.

"She's a big girl, and last I remember I didn't make any promises to her."

"Oh c'mon, House. You want her to pine after you the way you pined after Stacy?"

"I didn't pine," he retorted.

Wilson just gave him a look and didn't bother to argue. "I'm just telling you that it would be nice if you went back to being semi-human again. It's exhausting trying to keep up with your mood swings. I'll have to start calling you Sybil."

"So sorry," House said in a tone which meant the opposite.

Another sigh and Wilson shook his head feeling that he hadn't accomplished anything.

"You don't have to be this miserable, House. It's not getting you anywhere," he tried one more time to get something other than a snide comeback.

"Flattered as I am by the attention, let's try talking about something other than me, for a change. What're you getting for Julie to keep her from kicking you out?"

Wilson's exasperation kicked up a notch but he couldn't say he wasn't expecting House's response.

"We're going out for dinner. And for your information, we've been doing better, not that you ever ask."

"Of course I don't ask. I'm not a big ol' girl," House scoffed. "I have more important things to think about."

"Right, like the next monster truck rally and who's screwing who on "The O.C."

"Exactly," House replied, popping the last chip into his mouth.

"Fine. But I'm telling you now, that you'd better fish or cut bait. Because if Julie ever does kick me out, I can't guarantee I won't start looking for a brunette immunologist to ease my broken heart. Maybe if I get a pet rat, she'll take an interest in me."

And there. That look. That half-murderous glare. That was what made Wilson sure that there was still something of the old House cloaked under a new layer of bitterness. He smirked and House rolled his eyes, knowing that he'd been had.

"Happy Valentine's Day, House," Wilson said as he stood up and headed to the door. "Try to stop being an ass for five minutes if it's not too much trouble."

He left before House could reply, and walked to the elevator with a smug smile on his face.

Wilson wasn't used to playing matchmaker, but he would be lying to himself if he said he wasn't extremely used to giving advice. It was part of his job, and it was part of his personality. He knew that House rarely took it, but he knew someone who would be slightly more receptive.

He hadn't actually intended to say anything to her, but when he was paged to the clinic for a consult, he saw that she was on duty. From the hallway, he watched her usher out a mother and son, handing over a prescription and giving the boy's shoulder a little squeeze. She was on her way to the nurses' station to grab another chart when she spotted him.

"Dr. Wilson," she greeted him with a small smile. "Who paged you?"

"Dr. Klein," he answered, "but I just finished looking at his patient and I think it's just a benign cyst. Apparently she was dressing up for her husband when she felt a lump. A needle biopsy will tell us more, but I sent the woman home to enjoy her evening."

Cameron visibly relaxed at the news that the woman was most likely healthy. She hadn't even seen her, but that didn't make her any less sympathetic. Wilson noticed, and wondered if she would ever be able to completely divorce herself from her patients emotionally. Probably not, but he knew he would be hypocritical to blame her for it, since it was something he still struggled with at times.

"House have you down here doing his hours?" he asked, knowingly.

"Actually, no," she replied. "He wasn't on the schedule. I think Dr. Cuddy knew better than to bother." She indicated the bright red and white decorations along with the general air of cutesiness that pervaded the area, with nurses wearing heart-shaped pins and flowers overflowing the desk. "She probably figured he'd either find a way to avoid it or make everyone miserable."

"Well, that does sound like House," he agreed. "Romance is not even close to his middle name." He eyed Cameron carefully, noting that she had her eyes trained on the new chart she'd picked up. "Of course that doesn't mean he's completely without a heart."

"Right," Cameron said quietly. "The one you were afraid I would break." She looked up at him accusingly as she spoke.

Wilson rubbed the back of his neck in that abashed way of his. This wasn't going quite how he had planned. "Yeah. I'm sorry about that, Allison."

Her eyebrows rose very slightly at the rare use of her name and then she waved off his concern. "No, it's all right. I didn't mean to bring it up. Ever," she said meaningfully.

"Not one of his finest hours, I'm sure," Wilson pressed on, seeing an opening. "But he has a tendency to get nasty when he's feeling vulnerable."

"Like a trapped rat?" Cameron said with a little smirk.

"Exactly," Wilson replied, feeling better about the situation. "I know that you two were spending some time together for a little while there."

She shrugged. "Then you probably also know that that stopped around the same time he and Stacy got trapped in Maryland."

Wilson's empathetic gaze landed on Cameron's face and held there. "But Stacy's gone now," he said, "and you're still here." Sometimes voicing the obvious put it in a new perspective.

He glanced at his watch. "I've got a patient coming in ten minutes. Take care of yourself."

Cameron nodded and gave a little wave as he turned away.

"And happy Valentine's Day," he said, over his shoulder, leaving Cameron to wonder what she should do.

Just a few hours earlier she'd been sure that whatever had been developing between she and House was long gone and best forgotten or at least ignored. Wilson's earlier advice to her hadn't exactly panned out, but she almost felt ready to believe him again. This time, however, she would be prepared.

That ill-fated date had made her hesitant to make any kind of move without him initiating it, as he had on New Year's Eve, but she couldn't allow him to run things forever. If there was anything there at all, she needed to have some bit of control over it as well, and it was time she exercised it. If Wilson was wrong and House shot her down again… well, she'd been there before and she'd survived. Life had given her plenty of disappointments. One more wouldn't break her.

* * *

Scotch has a wonderful warm color, like the sun breaking over the horizon, or candlelight flickering brightly in an otherwise dark room. That warmth extends to the burning feel of it sliding down a man's throat, and that was what House was taking full advantage of as he sat on his sofa with a glass tumbler in one hand and a nearly-full bottle on the coffee table in front of him. It was only five thirty, but he'd skipped out of work early in order to get a head start on his plans, which included getting both drunk and stoned.

Damn Wilson for trying to get inside his head.

He took another sip and then put the glass down hard, liquid sloshing against the sides. He had been perfectly ready for a good six-month sulk and now he was looking for an excuse to get Cameron over to his place. Of course, the perfect excuse was scrambling around in his cage just five feet away.

House gathered his cane and hoisted himself to his feet. The latch to Steve's cage door was quickly released and he stared at the little rodent, resisting the urge to make clucking noises at him. He headed back to the sofa and sat there, chin resting on cane, staring at Steve and waiting for him to mount an escape. Unfortunately, he was being a lot more stubborn about it than he had been on New Year's Eve.

House grunted in frustration and picked up his glass again. No sense wasting good scotch.

The phone, when it rang, surprised him and he glanced towards the machine intending to let it pick up for him. On the third ring, just before the automated message was set to start, he grabbed the handset and turned it on.

"House," he answered in his usual perfunctory way.

"Hello."

House did a quick audio double-take. He was supposed to be calling her, not the other way around.

"Cameron?"

"Yes," she replied. "I came home and found a message from Steve on my answering machine."

"Oh you did, did you?" he said, staring at the rat in question.

"Yes. He asked me to be his valentine, and I've agreed. Of course since he can't drive, I'll be bringing dinner over."

"His valentine?" House almost scoffed, but held it in check, though his sarcasm could not be contained. "Who knew he was such a romantic. But you're supposed to be his surrogate mother."

"I know," she responded quickly, obviously prepared. "He's got a bit of an Oedipal complex, but I'll straighten him out. Let him down easy."

"I'm sure you will. Telling patients bad news is your specialty after all," the silence that followed made him think he'd pushed too hard and then he was pissed off at himself for caring.

"A little empathy never hurt anyone," she finally replied, sounding composed and stronger than he would have thought. "I'll be there in half an hour."

He was about to make one last comment, but the sound of empty air met his ear. She had already hung up. Setting the phone down, he once more limped over to Steve's cage where he shut and locked the door.

"You've got a date," he muttered. "Wouldn't want you running away now," he continued, and the fact that his words could easily have applied to himself was not lost on him. He shook his head to clear it of such thoughts, and poked a finger through the bars of the cage instead. "Since when did you learn how to use the phone?"


	2. Chapter 2

I'm glad that Steve has received such a warm reception. These shorts are fun to write as well as a challenge as the line between sentimental and realistic is a delicate one. Hopefully I've successfully balanced the two with this part. As always, comments and criticism are most welcome!

**Chapter 2**

Six-fifteen and House sat at his piano still nursing his glass of scotch. He'd considered gulping it down and starting on another but had decided that as amusing as it might be to greet Cameron at the door completely sloshed, she probably wouldn't stick around for long if he did. In the past that would have been the perfect reason to knock back two or three more shots. As it was, she was fifteen minutes late and he was annoyed at how antsy he was. Steve, meanwhile, was playing it cool and burrowing through his shavings looking for the last of the treats House had hidden there that morning.

House played through a few songs, hitting the keys lightly, ear tuned for the sound of Cameron's car door slamming. She'd only been over a handful of times but he had that sound trapped in his memory, along with most of their conversations.

It had only been a few weeks between the truck rally rat-sitting job and New Year's Eve, but he'd actually become somewhat accustomed to her presence during that time. His casual invitations to grab take-out, take care of Steve and watch television had never been turned down. It had been a comfortable arrangement until his obsession with Stacy reached fever-pitch and he abruptly stopped talking to Cameron about anything non-work related. The fact that Cameron was now the one making the overtures towards a fresh start was something that left him wondering about her tenacity, her capacity for forgiveness, and her sanity.

He hadn't wiped her from his mind during those weeks, no matter what it must have looked like. Stacy's sudden switch from aloof adversary to needy, conflicted near-lover had thrown him for a loop and made him reconsider everything. She was ready to give him everything he thought he wanted. His dogged pursuit was finally going to be rewarded. Yet when their lips met in that non-descript hotel room, after that truly inane speech of hers, he couldn't help but feel that she wouldn't be the only one being unfaithful if they continued.

Luckily the phone had rung at that moment. Cameron on the other end, needing his expertise. He had no doubt that without that interruption, he and Stacy would have fallen into bed together and relearned all the spots that made one another groan. It wouldn't have changed anything except to make her feel guilty and him feel mad about feeling guilty. In the end he'd still come to the same conclusion he'd reached in the middle of that kiss: that there really was no going back, and that a relationship between he Stacy would never work out.

Stacy had left the following week, and he'd been avoiding everyone ever since, trying to reconcile his own conflicted feelings.

He was staring down into his glass when a knock at the door jerked him back to the present. Perching it on top of a stack of books atop the piano, and grabbing his cane instead, he made his way to the front door.

"Showtime, Steve. I hope you put on your best cologne."

* * *

Cameron lived only ten minutes from the Princeton campus, and she had circled it twice before heading towards House's street on the other side. Twice she had reconsidered what she was doing; setting herself up to be humiliated, laying herself open to be disappointed, settling for being the consolation prize in House's romantic life. Because she had to wonder if that's all that she was. What had Wilson said? Stacy was gone, but she was still around? So she won by default? By being masochistic enough to put up with House's crap? She knew that wasn't what he had meant, but on the scale of probabilities, it ranked high.

She had to remind herself of the little things that had passed between them long before Stacy's reappearance. Of the way he had spoken gently to her when he found her crying. Of the present he'd left on her chair. Of the corsage, even if the rest of the date had been a disaster. She had also reminded herself about Steve. Possibly the lamest excuse ever for initiating contact, yet he had been the one to start it. And he hadn't laughed or hung up on her when she'd continued the now-convenient game.

Standing in front of his door now, with two bags in her left hand and her right hand poised to knock, she took one more steadying breath. No matter what happened, at least she wouldn't be spending Valentine's Day alone.

She let her small fist rap against the heavy green door three times in quick succession and then listened. She'd seen his car outside so she knew he was home, and she didn't think he'd pretend otherwise. There was the muted sound of footsteps and the rubber on wood of a cane thumping along beside them.

"You're late," he said as he swung the door open.

Instinct told her to duck her head and look at him through lowered lashes, but instead she raised her chin and met his piercing gaze steadily.

"Traffic, and the restaurant was slow," she told him.

His eyes narrowed and he glanced at the larger of the bags she carried.

"_Romano's_? I think their food may be a bit rich for Steve," he quipped.

"Well I have to eat, and I had to bring enough for you, too. It would have been rude otherwise."

"Wouldn't want that," he said blandly as he ushered her inside.

She knew her way to the kitchen and walked there quickly, placing both bags on the small table under the window.

"Plates?" she said over her shoulder.

"So now I'm your waiter?"

She smirked and felt herself relaxing. "No, you're the man who's getting free Italian food out of the deal. Now bring me a couple of plates."

House was surprised at her self-assured attitude. It was something he expected more from himself. He noticed though, when she looked at him out of the corner of her eye with just the hint of hesitation. For some reason, that slight sign of insecurity made him feel better. He didn't want to be the only one who didn't know what the hell was going on.

He carried two plates and silverware over to her and stood behind her while she portioned out the food. Chicken parmigiana, linguini, mixed vegetables, and rolls emerged from the plan brown bag along with a bottle of merlot.

"Steve's not old enough to drink," House said as she pulled out the attractively labeled bottle.

"I figured you could have his share," she said dryly.

"Touche."

She grinned but didn't let him see it. When she turned around she had the plates in her hands. House was staring at her and she could tell that he was thinking something that he would probably never tell her about.

"Can you grab the other bag and the wine?" she asked.

"If I must," he groused half-heartedly and then picked up both items, tucking the bottle under his arm so that he could grab two wine glasses on the way to the living room.

Cameron had set the plates down on the coffee table by the time he joined her, and she reached out for the white plastic bag he was carrying.

"This is for Steve," she said, reaching inside and extracting a package of heart-shaped rat cakes. She cooed gently as she approached Steve's cage while unwrapping them. House rolled his eyes but watched with interest and a slightly upturned mouth. "Come on, Steve. Here's your present," she said and the furry creature immediately stopped what he was doing and ran to the side of the cage.

She poked one treat through the bars and watched while Steve held it in his tiny paws and nibbled on it. The grin on her face couldn't be restrained and without even thinking about it, she shot it over her shoulder at House.

"He likes it," she said happily.

House was on the verge of grinning stupidly himself, but he stopped in the nick of time although Cameron caught the twitching around his eyes. "Of course he likes it. It's food from the hand of a babe. What's not to like?"

"Nice," Cameron said with exasperation, making her way back to the sofa. "First lobby art, now a babe. Is that a lateral or upward move?"

Her words masked the fact that she was thrown off-balance by his remark, although they did nothing to control her blush. He'd never exactly been shy about making comments about her and to her, but that was at the hospital where they could easily be pushed aside as part of his irreverent work style. Here at his townhouse, just the two of them and Steve, it was harder to figure out if there was a deeper meaning behind his snaky comments.

"Food's getting cold," was his reply, and Cameron decided to let it drop.

What should have been a completely awkward meal was only partly so, with House turning on the television, as usual, and Cameron slipping into the comfortable niche she'd formed for herself before New Year's Eve. They ate and watched General Hospital and sniped at the bad acting and implausible plotlines. As soon as she'd finished her meal, Cameron let Steve out of his cage, and she finished watching the show with him perched on her shoulder.

House wasn't sure when that had all become almost normal, and he didn't like the uncomfortable feeling that such domesticity set to churning in the pit of his stomach. This would never work. It hadn't worked with Stacy. Why would it work with Cameron? He was crazy for even letting her come over.

"Looks like Steve is going for second base," he commented as the rat nibbled at Cameron's neck and eased himself towards her cleavage. His tone was sharp and hard, making her look towards him in surprise.

"What's the matter? Jealous?" she snapped back.

"Well, in the short term, Steve may satisfy you, but he snores and sleeps late and refuses to talk about his emotions," he replied, feeling himself settle into the familiar bantering mode that had served him so well for so long.

"Sounds just like his father," she countered one eyebrow raised in challenge.

House hadn't expected a comeback. He'd expected her to softly demure and give him the chance to lob another insult and then another and another until she gave up playing house and left. It looked like that wasn't going to happen and he stared at her for a moment, gathering his thoughts, reassessing the situation.

"You're feisty tonight," he said, leaning back with an air of nonchalance which he wasn't really feeling.

"Life is short," she said, serious rather than playful as she had been a second earlier. "I'm trying not to waste it anymore."

Knowledge of exactly what had recently reinforced that viewpoint for her made his stomach tense. It was an automatic response now every time he thought about it. He'd tried to avoid doing so.

"You're due to get your test this week," he said abruptly.

She blinked a few times, mildly surprised that he hadn't responded to her with another bantering remark.

"I know," she said. "I have an appointment on Thursday."

He nodded and turned his attention back to the television. He couldn't make her leave, so he would ignore her instead.

"You kissed me," she said suddenly, causing House to snap his head around to face her.

"What?"

"New Year's Eve," she clarified as if such explanation was necessary. "You kissed me. Should I be expecting that to happen again? Or was that it? A one time thing, with me as a stand-in for the ex you've decided you're through with after all."

"Feisty and blunt," House said, buying himself some time to come up with an answer.

"I've been blunt before," she said simply, and he realized that she was right. Aside from the lack of venom, her honesty at times had rivaled his own.

"You're nothing like her," he said, as if that was enough of an answer.

She kept her eyes trained on his face but didn't say anything. She wanted more but she didn't want to have to drag it out of him. Her expression was one of guarded openness, as if she was ready for anything he might say.

"I don't do well with direct questions. You know that," he said sharply.

A tired sigh preceded Cameron's next words. "I know." She stood up and walked over to Steve's cage, settling him gently inside and rubbing him softly behind the ears. "I should go."

House lurched to his feet. This was what he'd wanted. Right? Her gone. Things back to normal. Pre-Stacy. Pre-kiss. Pre-feelings that conflicted with the way he'd chosen to live his life. Alone. Except that tight feeling in his stomach was back and it didn't have anything to do with her HIV status.

He followed her to the door where she tugged her coat on and glanced back over at Steve's cage.

"If you need me to watch him, or check in on him for you. You know I'll still do that," she said.

"Of course you will. Because you're Allison Cameron. All-around good person," he said, only lightly sarcastic.

"Right," she responded, staring into his eyes and trying to see through them to what he was really thinking, as if to see that would be to understand everything and to recapture that hope she'd nursed for two long months.

She was half-way out the door when he grabbed her and pulled her back, mashing his lips against hers and snugging her body tight to his own. She felt his heat, his heart, his breath, and she gasped into the kiss, opening her mouth and letting his tongue explore. This was like New Year's Eve, but magnified. Needier. Hungrier. More desperate. She clung to him and this time his arms stayed around her and held her closer with every heartbeat. It ended with the two of them wrenching themselves away and staring at each other as if stunned by what had just happened.

"Another tradition?" Cameron asked quietly.

"Maybe," House replied.

Cameron's breath was still ragged, but it settled down as she stood there memorizing the scruffy face leaning over her. She reached up one hand to lightly touch his jaw.

"Maybe," she repeated.

"I'll perform your test for you tomorrow. My office. Nine a.m."

She started to shake her head but he tightened the grip he still had on her shoulders. "All right," she agreed quietly.

House looked over at Steve's cage. The little rat was curled up in a thick pile of bedding. "Looks like you tired him out. You sure know how to show a rat a good time."

"He's probably the best valentine I ever had," Cameron said lightly, continuing to pull herself together.

"Takes after his namesake."

"Obviously."

"I'm not going to say it."

"I know you aren't," she said as she broke away and started down the stairs. "Happy Valentine's Day, House," she called out softly.

He shook his head and watched her get into her car. He wouldn't say the words, but he was thinking them as she drove away.


End file.
